by B. J. Holmes
The snippet of information meant nothing to anybody except Shatterhand. ‘Things are beginning to take shape,’ he put in, remembering the description of the man Lone Eagle was pursuing. ‘It is my figuring that their base was in fact a spot where they were tending a herd of horses. They had to keep in contact with it and they must have left a minimal number of wranglers with it in order not to lose any. It appears the bunch are primarily horse-thieves and the attack on your wagon train was purely an opportunity that the devil and providence offered them.’
‘How do you know all this?’ the commissioner asked suspiciously.
‘I do not know with certainty, sir. But my companion is at this very moment on their trail in order to ascertain the facts. You see, we had already cut sign of some varmints running a herd during our initial approach. The indications are it is a big herd. Too big, one thinks, to off-load in these sparsely-populated parts. Thinking the matter through it is my figuring that they will be heading for Canada. It is common knowledge that the Royal Mounted Police are starting up in the North-West Territory and are in sore need of horses. Indeed, I have heard tell they’re paying out up to a hundred dollars apiece for a cayuse that would fetch ten dollars hereabouts.’
Someone in the watching crowd whistled. ‘Say they got thirty head—why, that’s three thousand dollars!’
Shatterhand grunted. ‘According to my companion they have assembled much more horseflesh than that. Maybe upwards of fifty head.’
Draper patted the air condescendingly, like a patrician quelling a gathering of the unwashed and uneducated. ‘Naw, I don’t go for that. To buy from strangers would be to encourage law-breaking and the one thing those Britishers go for is law and order. No, the Royal North-West Mounted Police would not buy from strangers.’
‘Of course they would not,’ Shatterhand agreed. ‘But this gang know what they’re doing. They will have somebody organized. Probably fixed it with some fellow that already sells on an official basis to the Mounties who can pass them off on the Britishers as straight stuff.’
‘For me, one thing doesn’t sit right with that notion,’ Stanton said. ‘If their major operation is to gather as large a herd as possible, why didn’t they take the horses from the wagon-train?’
‘That is easy to explain,’ Mrs. Draper said. ‘Earlier, they were about to do just that when Mr. Shatterhand arrived on the scene. In fact they had already driven off one horse and wagon. But when Mr. Shatterhand told the ruffian about more army personnel being in the vicinity and that they were looking for us, the desperado returned, told his henchmen and they made off immediately.’
‘I see, ma’am,’ Stanton said. He surveyed the weary travelers forming a circle around the discussion. ‘Does anyone know who these men are? Did anyone recognize any of them? Or, did someone maybe overhear any names as the renegades addressed each other?’
A hubbub developed but was unproductive. Stanton arranged for his men to distribute the few spare weapons they carried among the male settlers and then posted guards around the train. ‘Any more injured?’ he went on.
‘No,’ one man said. ‘But there are many who have been shaken by this experience and would benefit from a short rest before we resume.’
Some wanted to continue immediately but Stanton reckoned the majority wished some slight respite. ‘We move in a quarter-hour. I don’t reckon the renegades are coming back. I think Shatterhand is right and they have set themselves a considerable task ahead in journeying up to Canada. They are travelling north and winter is fast approaching. They will not wish to be caught with fifty head of horse in a blizzard.’
‘Anyway,’ Shatterhand added, ‘they will not approach now we have an armed guard which is alerted.’
‘As far as your valuables are concerned,’ the captain said, ‘we shall send a large detail after them once we are at Fort Shaw. And of course also notify the Mounties.’
‘They won’t get far,’ a man said. ‘They took my wagon. It contained a lot of whiskey. Five-gallon kegs! Once they open that up they’ll be on a drunk for a week. The authorities will be able to take them easy.’
‘Who are you?’ Shatterhand asked.
‘Joe Sanders. Trader from Fort Benton bringing up supplies.’ Fort Benton on the Missouri was a fur-trading post. Being at the head of navigation on the river it was the nearest point for water-borne trade and had developed into the centre for receiving outside supplies and dispatching them all over Montana.
‘Are you familiar with the territory, Mr. Sanders?’
‘This is my second trip, sir.’
‘Well, Mr. Sanders, if you are a betting man I will lay you a hundred dollars, one to five, the blackguards will not touch a drop of the liquid. They will keep it intact to trade for horses with the Indians.’
‘I may be unfamiliar with the territory, Mr. Shatterhand, but I know one thing. If there’s one item an Indian won’t part with — even for booze — it’s his horse! And certainly not in the quantities of horseflesh these desperadoes are interested in! Huh!’
‘I am afraid you do not understand local economics, Mr. Sanders. Let me educate you in the trading circumstances of Montana. How much is one of your five-gallon kegs of whiskey?’
Sanders coughed. ‘Fifty dollars retail.’
‘Mmmm. Say ten horses per keg. That will convert to around a thousand dollars a keg in horseflesh. These are desperadoes. And theirs is such a big operation that word will have spread like a forest fire as they have moved northward. Their offer will be enough incentive for some renegade Indians to have started rustling on the side, knowing they will get an easy trade. In Montana Territory there are many fragmented bands of Blackfeet and Crow. Disaffected already, such redmen will now have a spur to raid unsuspecting whites.’ The frontiersman turned to the commissioner. ‘Sir, the implications of this affair are increasing in scale.’
‘You may all rest assured,’ Draper said, ‘when I am in the commissioner’s chair, my first priority will be to bring law and order to the territory. A necessary condition for Montana to achieve statehood is that we prove to Congress that we can put our own house in order. And that means rooting out and exterminating all roving bands of criminals — white and red.’
It was not the time and place to argue about sweeping generalizations, so Shatterhand said nothing; but on what he had just heard he did not award the commissioner a high score on strategy or diplomacy. A policy which included exterminating redmen would put a whole heap of new problems on the commissioner’s desk.
‘Excuse me, James,’ Mrs. Draper said, standing up. ‘If we are to pause a while, then I must take the opportunity to stretch my legs. I have been cooped up almost more than I can bear.’ She disappeared into the interior for a moment and one could hear her checking the injured man’s condition.
‘Our driver is comfortable,’ she said, reappearing eventually. As she came more into view it could be seen that she was a comely woman; and much younger than her husband, probably not yet thirty. The commissioner moved enough to allow her to pass. Stanton dismounted and helped her to the ground. As she descended she seemed to lean on the soldier more than was necessary. He escorted her for several paces away from the stagecoach and there was a brief exchange of words during which she leant forward and touched him, as though imparting a confidence.
The settlers were left to their own devices but there was none of the bustle that usually accompanied a wagon train stopover. No shouting or the noise of work and no fires were lit. Horses were unhitched in relative silence and allowed to graze on what grass had managed to take root along the edges of the coulee.
Mrs. Draper strolled casually away from the train and sat on a rock some distance away while other people fragmented into groups and started talking. After a few minutes Captain Stanton disengaged himself from some discussion and meandered close to her position without looking directly at her. He crooked his leg and put his booted foot on the rock on which she sat such that the two were back to back. He took his arm
y-issue Colt from its flapped holster and pretended to check it.
‘It’s been a long time,’ Mrs. Draper said without looking at him.
‘Yes. But it’s over, Sarah.’
‘Oh, don’t say that, John.’
‘You made the right decision. Draper can give you the things I couldn’t. Money, position. That’s what you told me then. I took it hard but have come to acknowledge that it was and is still true.’
‘No. One can make a mistake. And I did.’
‘You can’t turn the clock back.’
‘Is there another woman?’
‘What?’ he scoffed. ‘Out here?’
‘Did you join the army because of me?’
A couple of settlers walked by and the captain, seemingly oblivious to her presence, busied himself more with his pistol. When they were out of earshot, he continued. ‘That was one reason.’
‘You must have loved me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you love me now?’
He faltered before he spoke again. ‘We were happy together for a time because we were young. Practicalities didn’t matter. But when you get down to brass tacks they do.’
There was a pause, then she said, ‘I can’t take any more of him. He’s uncaring and cruel.’
He spun the chamber and returned the gun to its holster. ‘What’s done is done, Sarah,’ he said, and walked away from the rock back to the train to join the others.
While he was having words with Shatterhand and the wagon-master about the terrain that lay ahead, Lone Eagle rode up. The redman had sighted the renegades moving north and had counted thirteen men with a herd of over fifty head. They were accompanied by a wagon. But, more important, the leader had an eye-patch.
‘Be assured, my friend,’ Shatterhand said, ‘they will be sought and punished once we have seen these good people to safety.’ He glanced up at the sun. ‘Well,’ he said loudly to those in authority standing close, ‘we have nigh on ten miles to Great Falls and the journey is going to take us the rest of the day. We must resume the trek.’
The wagon-master gave the order to hitch up and soon the train started to roll, each wagon close on the tailboard of the one in advance. Stanton posted two men on rearguard while he and Shatterhand rode at the head.
Soon they were out of the coulee and on the overland trail, wending their way between giant cottonwoods. ‘I fear the territory will not be well served by her new commissioner,’ Shatterhand said after a spell.
He pointed to some Rocky Mountain goats high up on a precipice, oblivious to the wagon train passing below. ‘See those creatures yonder? They have the ability to ascend great heights but have no brain for other matters. Likewise, the commissioner: to have achieved his position he must know politics but I sense the man knows little else.’
‘I share your sentiment,’ the captain said. ‘But that may be because I have never liked politicians.’
‘I know something else about your preferences,’ the frontiersman added, glancing around to ensure he was not being overheard. ‘The way you and the lady Draper were acting up it was clear you and she have met before.’
The cavalry officer said nothing.
‘Furthermore,’ Der Jager continued, ‘it is clear that you have a yen for the lady.’
Stanton was taken aback. ‘Was it that obvious?’
‘To these old eyes at least. One cannot say if other folks noticed.’ There was no further exchange for a spell until Shatterhand added, ‘Of course, it is no business of mine, Captain, but I must offer very obvious advice: that you forget whatever liaison you had with the lady if you do not wish to jeopardize your career.’
Chapter Seven
They made Great Falls without mishap, having been joined along the way by the remaining army search parties. About half the pioneers were to break away at the settlement, some to set homestead in the environs of Great Falls itself and others to head for Missoula through Rogers Pass after a rest-up. The telegraph network was still in a primitive stage this far out in the territory so Stanton was only able to send a message back to Fort Benton informing the detachment there of the troubles and suggesting units in outlying districts be recalled where possible.
‘I must return to Fort Shaw, so I shall escort what’s left of the train,’ he said as the principals of the remaining group made their plans for the forthcoming day. ‘But the escort must be small,’ he added. ‘With the possibility of trouble from both redman and white I cannot risk leaving the settlement at Great Falls completely unprotected. I must leave some troopers. At least the wagon train itself will be a mite smaller with some of the settlers dropping off here.’ He yawned. There was not a man amongst them who was not tired and in need of rest. ‘And you, Shatterhand?’ he asked in conclusion. ‘What are your plans?’
‘An old friend of mine always used to say, “Never crack an egg you do not intend to eat,”’ the hunter said. ‘I will see this task through to its conclusion.’ The task to which he referred was that of his commitment to Lone Eagle. The gritty philosophy he got from Sam Hawkens, the old-timer who had befriended the young man when he had first come to the United States. A frontiersman himself, Hawkens had taken the greenhorn under his wing and taught him the basic skills of the Westmann, skills that he was to hone over his life, abilities that had seen him through many exploits as the man later to be called Shatterhand. And the two had remained together as companions in the wilderness for many of Shatterhand’s early days.
Early in the morning, with Lone Eagle scouting ahead, Shatterhand and Stanton again pointed the column as it left the settlement. This time they were down to six wagons and the commissioner’s coach.
‘By the way,’ Shatterhand said, pulling his horse closer to the captain’s, ‘your sergeant mentioned the paymaster bringing a big army payroll through recently. I thought the army only paid out in its own token currency which then had to be converted to specie at a discount?’
‘True. But there have been many complaints about the system.’
‘That is understandable.’
‘Yeah. And the complaints were not only about being paid in tokens but the fact that out on the frontier the paymaster arrives only infrequently. Under pressure the Paymaster General in Washington has had to change the system and has decreed that the men get cash. The wagon-load mentioned by Sergeant McGinty is the first consignment to come through.’
As they progressed, the land became bleaker. From time to time they would see small herds of cattle grazing on meadowland in valley bottoms. There were signs that Montana could become big cattle-country in the distant future. The grass was rich green and there would never be the drought that could scourge the southerly prairies. But those advantages were offset by the yearly threat of wipeout. It would be some time before successive generations of the Texas longhorns that were being brought north to form the stock would be hardy enough to sustain the kind of winter that the North-West could conjure up unpredictably and almost vindictively.
At noon they were just clearing a pass, with the mountains rearing into a jagged line against the sky, when Shatterhand spied Lone Eagle motionless on the trail and pointing with his lance. He and Stanton turned their heads in the indicated direction and saw riders approaching them at right angles from the south. Riders and horses looked tired but there was a purposiveness about their movement. Stanton passed the word for all the troopers who hadn’t seen the approaching strangers, and weapons were readied.
There were six newcomers and they cut the trail just ahead. Stanton ordered a halt for the train, then rode cautiously ahead accompanied by Shatterhand and Corporal Dobie.
‘Howdy, friends,’ the leader of the group hailed, raising both hands from his saddle horn in a gesture of peace. Stanton and his party reined in short.
‘What’s your business?’ Stanton asked curtly.
‘Federal marshal and posse,’ the leader explained. He looked huge, swathed as he was in a bearskin coat, and one guessed he was huge underneath too. �
�With your permission?’ he asked, indicating he wished to open his coat.
‘Go ahead, stranger,’ Stanton allowed. ‘But make it careful.’
The big man opened the front of his bearskin to reveal a badge pinned to his jacket. ‘Ezra Lackman, U.S. Federal Marshal.’
Stanton nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Okay, Marshal Lackman, state your business.’
Lackman looked near exhaustion and his voice sounded the same way. ‘We’re tracking a gang of horse-thieves. Led by a hombre by the name of Booker. Ned Booker.’ There was strong Texan in the drawl. ‘There’s wanted posters on him and his bunch across three states,’ he continued. ‘Got about a dozen men or so with him. You seen anything of such a bunch of critters?’
Stanton ignored the question. ‘These horse-thieves, have they got a herd of horses with them now?’
‘Yeah. ’Bout forty lead. Maybe fifty.’
‘Well, how come you lose the track of a herd that size? Seems to me you’d have to be blind to miss a trail made by so many horses.’
‘It’s a long story, soldier, but the short of it is we’re several days behind ’em. By the route they’re taking we reckoned they’re heading north-west for Canada. Figured we’d save time by cutting across country. That’s how come we’re not on regular trail.’
‘Can’t get far in Big Sky country if you don’t stick to regular trails,’ the captain observed.
Lackman grunted. ‘Yeah, so we been finding out, soldier.’ He swung down from his horse, walked few paces and stretched while he surveyed the snow-covered peaks in the distance. He was a solid, square-featured man and his no-nonsense manner suggested his character was just as solid and square. Like if he had a job to do he would just do it, whatever it took. ‘Booker and his roughnecks have been picking up horses between Big Carnas, Idaho and the Gallatin. Along the way they raid homesteads and any traveling settlers they come across. There’ve been some killings. They came along through the foothills away from the trails in the Yellowstone so that they wouldn’t meet too many folk who could present them with some opposition. But now there’s talk they’ve started raiding Indian settlements.’
